My Pretty Little Nightingale
by PHLover213
Summary: "Can you imagine how it hurt as you woke screaming, as you struggled with the bonds?" . . . Leroux-based oneshot of Erik's thoughts through the scorpion and grasshopper scene. A little morbid and dark/fluffy-ish ExC if anything. Enjoy.


**Hey, everyone, sorry I haven't updated anything in ever. Updates will probably come soon. Thanks for being patient in any case. :)**

**xxxx**

Do you know what it was like to walk into the room and see you unconscious against the wall, that rivulet of blood running down the side of your face, matting your pretty golden hair? Do you know how it felt to pick up your frail little unmoving body and tie it to a chair with those silk scarves? Precious, expensive silk, but mere trifles when it comes to your comfort, my dear. I brushed out the knots in your pretty hair – it's like silk against my old fingers, and you know I can only imagine what your reaction would have been, sweet Christine, had you been awake. But this thought opens other possibilities of what could have been done that night in those few small moments . . . but, dear Christine, Erik is not _truly_ a monster, he would never hurt you so . . .

Surely you can imagine my sobs as I buried that horrid face in your lovely white dress. You've heard and hidden from the sound of my voice before, haven't you, dear Christine? Poor stupid Erik apologises for everything he's done to you. You don't deserve this pain, but poor Erik cannot bear this burden on his own.

Can you imagine how it hurt as you woke screaming, as you struggled with the bonds? I didn't want to force the decision on you, darling Christine, and I hated myself as I gently leaned to kiss your forehead, your poor, marred, bleeding, bruised forehead, I wanted to die in your place . . . I begged to God when I left that cursed room, my Christine, I fell to my knees and I sobbed. I hated your pain. You will never understand how terrible those moments were.

But Erik's poor old heart shattered, dear Christine, and with no heart left to love, only a monster remained, only a terrible, cruel monster . . . a monster that knew only sweet Christine could heal his broken heart. Those little Japanese bronze sculptures, lovely Christine, they were for you . . . if you wished to leave this terrible mortal existence, I had the grasshopper ready for you . . . I can imagine even now the roar of the explosion as everything in my little house tore and was destroyed, ripped into your porcelain skin, destroying you with everything else . . . then would darling Christine be content? And why, my beautiful Christine, did I have the scorpion to drown the powder? Ah, clever Christine, always asking Erik the wrong questions . . .

To prove my love, dear Christine, of course! Your Erik is not stupid enough to completely disregard your comfort in such a heinous way . . . no, no, mad Erik at least provides one alternative . . .

There you were, sweet Christine, there you stood, my lovely, perfect, living bride. Your pretty hair was still matted with sweat and dirt and blood and the dried blood stained your pale tear-stained face but I do believe I have never seen something more wonderful in my entire agonising life, my Christine. I saw the smile that stretched over your pale little lips. You were safe, precious Christine, your little chap was safe, that stupid pest, my _friend_ the daroga was safe . . . but poor unhappy Erik's heart was breaking. You cannot imagine poor Erik's anguish as his heart brimmed, darling Christine, you had pleased your fallen angel so. He loves you, little Christine.

You can't imagine what it was like to kiss you as you shuddered from the cold, or from fear . . . I could not tell, you see, dear Christine, I'm afraid my mind was quite gone by that blissful moment! And I remember that look of resolve in your beautiful blue eyes as you stood on the tips of your little toes, your lips pursed with that determination as you fought to reach my forehead.

Adorable Christine, you could only get as far as my cheekbone! I tried so very hard not to laugh with my rapturous joy, darling Christine, but that insane chuckle dissolved into sobs. Sobs that wracked my body as I fell to my knees, my old knees . . . you leaned down then and your soft, perfect lips were against my forehead in what will always be the most wonderful kiss in the world . . . it was complete bliss . . . you cried, silly Christine, I didn't want you to shed another tear for old Erik, he isn't worth your precious tears, you see . . .

I knew then, in that moment, as you kissed my forehead – you kissed me, Christine, my ghastly skin was graced with an angel's lips! – that I could not cage my pretty little nightingale. I had to set her free.

**xxxx**

**It's seven minutes to midnight. I swear, guys, I'm not dead, I'm just completely robbed of inspiration. But now school is over and when I have my holiday homework out of the way, I can devote a lot more time to writing, which should probably prove beneficial for somebody. I have yet to decide who.**

**Also, next year I'm studying English, Philosophy, French, Drama and Music. Not that anybody probably cares. but it should prove interesting.**

**I'll stop rambling before I border on the depressing. Leave me reviews if you please. Goodnight.**


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